Oh protector of softer flesh,
Self-grown armor
Roughness in contrast to silk elsewhere
You remind me of time,
Repetition and work
The work of hands, eyes and heart together.
Coils of buttery linoleum
Battleship gray
And knotty wood
I make
This world of my own
On paper and fabric
You are subjected to forces
Of my, not your, choosing
And are wrought in the
friction of my hair-on-fire
Or even the leaden striking
of my brain against graphite and paper
Hoping for a spark
Just a spark.
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